The Master Plan
by SarcasticEnigma
Summary: ONESHOT "You're in a lot of trouble. Do you know what you've been accused of? Murder. Two men are being hospitalized, three more are missing. Why did you hurt those people?" This had been her plan, her choice. Post HtSaEM R&R!


_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Heroes_ or any of its characters. I only own Sam and all characters associated with her, except those from the show, obviously. Sam is inspired by three characters: Sam Taggart of _ER_, Faith Lehane of _BtVS_and _AtS_, and Aaron of _Fallen_, but not the angelic parts like the wings and angel-fire though.

_**The Master Plan**_

"We dream of hope. We dream of change. Of fire, of love, of death. And then it happens. The dream becomes real. And the answer to this quest, this need to solve life's mysteries finally shows itself. Like the glowing light of a new dawn. So much struggle for meaning, for purpose. And, in the end, we find it only in each other – our shared experience of the fantastic…and the mundane. The simple human need to find a kindred…to connect…and to know in our hearts…that we are not alone." – Mohinder Suresh, _How to Stop an Exploding Man_

**Chapter 1: ****Bedford Hills Correctional Facility**

NOVEMBER 9, 2006

BEDFORD HILLS, NEW YORK

"Is she going to be okay?"

Looking through the two-way mirror, Dr. Adrian Knight held a tight fist against his chin and scowled, annoyed and angry. Under the dark haze of rage though was fear. On the other side of the mirror was a plain white room, the four walls a glaringly bright white. There was a vent and a light fixture in the ceiling, of course, but the room was merely for observation. Sitting in the center of the room, in a steel chair, was the subject of his question: his former student and employee. No, that _thing_ wasn't his employee.

The broad shouldered forty-something man's scowl deepened in disgust. This thing wasn't the woman that brought him coffee after a seventy-something hour shift or handled outbursts of the crazies with her sharp tongue and sedatives. This thing wasn't the woman who bought them late lunches and dinners or helped him through whatever personal problems he was having, and vice versa. This thing wasn't Samantha Hughes, his Sammy, his confidant, not only his career but his life. This thing wasn't her. It couldn't be.

"Ms. Hughes—"

"_Dr._ Hughes," Adrian interjected tersely. "Just because she's the patient now doesn't mean she deserves your disrespect."

"Yes, as I was saying," the psychiatrist continued, clearing his throat awkwardly, "Dr. Hughes has been through a traumatic experience. Not everyone goes through what she has. She shot a police officer and another man, and brutally stabbed a third man." Sighing, he removed his black rimmed glasses and turned his attention from his patient to her employer. "Not to mention that she's been accused of the murders of Nathan Petrelli and his brother."

"Those men are _missing_, not dead," Adrian argued harshly. "There has to be a body for there to be a murder."

"You must understand," Dr. Baxter continued complacently, "whether or not she's innocent is not my concern. My concern is if she's competent enough to stand trial, retell the events of the night, and possibly face life in prison. There are papers already being filed."

"What I _meant_ was is she okay to go home or back to the hospital? If she isn't convicted, which I promise you, she won't, is she safe? Or should I be concerned with the staff's safety, with the patients?" he asked impatiently, looking back the doctor.

"Dr. Knight," Baxter began, cleaning his glasses with the end of his white lab coat, "I think the _real_ question here is: do you want this woman back _working_ in a hospital or _committed_ to a hospital?"

"She'd been acting strange for some time now; I haven't seen her in months. She shirked her duties, avoided my calls, lots of "family emergencies" when she has no family, and then she just quit and moved, no forwarding information or nothing," he listed suspiciously, eyes still boring into the white room.

"No family? Really?" the doctor questioned interestedly.

"No. She told me that they died when she was still in high school," he answered calmly. "Her attitude changed as well; always sniping and shouting. I even saw her talking to herself, arguing even, on more than one occasion."

"Interesting," Baxter hummed.

"The evasive bitch act was cute at the beginning of this mess, but not anymore. She's a doctor; she's supposed to be a goddamn professional. She wants to avoid her problems so much, she can do it strapped to a bed," Adrian stated, turning and signing the consent forms the doctor handed him.

"Speaking like that isn't going to help her get any better, sir, if you don't mind me saying," Baxter noted logically.

"Well, I can't help her now, can I, Doc? Samantha is insane! It's as simple as that!" he shouted.

"She's not insane," he argued calmly. "Not yet. I haven't done a formal evaluation."

"That _thing_ in there is not my partner! She's a criminal! She's a monster! A man is dead because of her, two others are in critical condition, and two more are missing!" he shouted back furiously. Recollecting himself with a sigh, Adrian looked back at the doctor and shook his head as he handed him the forms. "No. Do whatever you think is best, but I don't want her anywhere near me or the hospital again."

"Don't worry, Dr. Knight. You're making the right decision. Samantha will receive the best of care here, I promise," he assured him, shaking the politician's hand.

Glaring at Samantha in disappointment through the glass, Adrian quickly turned on his heels and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Sighing to himself, Dr. Richard Baxter placed the consent forms into his patient's folder, put his glasses back on, and steeled himself. He had to speak with her and learn exactly how she killed two men, shot two others, stabbed another one, not to mention why she did these things, along with how she made three bodies disappear. He also had to explain to her that she would be staying hospitalized, indefinitely.

Only a miracle would save her now.

"Hello, Samantha. I'm Dr. Baxter. You can call me Richard or Rich, if you want," he greeted charmingly as he entered the room.

Samantha was unresponsive. The sickly looking twenty-nine year old blonde simply sat in the provided chair. Her face was blank, dark brown eyes stared into nothing, head bowed down innocently. Her hands were folded in her lap, patiently. It was as if she was waiting to be taken away to the stocks. She was either catatonic or in shock. _It must be the sedative,_ Dr. Baxter thought as he knelt down in front of her.

"You're in a lot of trouble," he told her. As if she needed reminding. "Your friend, Dr. Knight, an Attending at Bellevue, I believe, has agreed that it would be best if you stayed here, for however long is necessary."

"I didn't do anything," she said quietly but firmly, looking up at him. Her eyes were stony. "I didn't kill anyone. Ask anyone that was there: the Bennett's, Nikki and Micah, Molly, Dr. Suresh. Ask them!"

"I understand how you feel," he cooed, "but none of the civilians at Kirby Plaza know who you are." Samantha glared at him, but he didn't seem to notice as he coddled her. "And, if you didn't indeed kill anyone, then what happened isn't your fault. I'm here to help you."

"I don't want your pity. And I don't want your help," she spat.

"You may not want it, but you need it."

"No, I don't! Leave me alone! I want to go home! Now!" she argued vehemently.

"Samantha, sweetie," he began with a charming sneer and she cringed in disgust, "do you know what you've been accused of? Murder. Two men are being hospitalized right now; they may not make it through the night. Three more men are missing, one of which left a rather large pile of blood. Blood that is believed to be Sylar's, the man the FBI has been looking for, your partner. The police are going to arrest you and you'll probably spend the rest of your life in jail, but only if you don't stay here as my patient. I want to help you, and I'm going to, whether you like it or not."

"By keeping me locked up? By drugging me? How is that helping me?"

"Dr. Knight—"

"My former employer is _leaving_ me here," she interjected angrily. "He doesn't care about me or want me anymore. I'm twenty-nine and I'm a damn good doctor. I've been practicing medicine for eight years. Then again, I'm a nut job now. I guess that makes it okay to dump me," she said sarcastically. Unconsciously, her hands started to grip at the hospital gown she'd been forced into. Dr. Baxter didn't seem to notice.

"Samantha, I need to know, why did you hurt all those people? And why not the others? Dr. Suresh, the Bennett's, Ms. Saunders and the children – why didn't you hurt any of them?" he questioned calmly.

"I told you before, just like I told the police, I didn't murder anyone," she answered quickly, almost robotically. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"Dear, even if that were true," he mocked with a smug chuckle, fixing his glasses, "the FBI has been looking into you for quite some time." Her grip on the gown tightened, her arms were nearly shaking as she glared at the sparkling white floor. "I've seen photographs of this Sylar's crime scenes and, the things that he does, simply aren't possible. Not alone. I mean, the skill alone needed to make the kind of cuts to the skull. Only a doctor could have those skills, and this Sylar is no doctor. But you are," he finished pointedly. "I need to give the police your statement. So, I'll ask you again, why did you those things? Why did you help Sylar murder all those people?"

_'__Ugly man.__Stupid man.__Ugly __stupid __man with ugly __stupid extra eyes__'_

The woman's eyes snapped to the top right corner of the room. To the security personal, it looked like she was staring straight at them through the camera. The security guards monitoring the tape was actually startled by her gaze and backed away from his station. But what she was really looking at was the fly that was sitting on the wall next to the camera. She had to smirk at the fly's words.

Yes, words. All animals talked, as she learned months ago. They normally didn't speak unless spoken to though. But she didn't learn that she could talk to animals until two days later, when she got home from the hospital. She'd thought she'd left with a clean bill of health, but she'd been wrong when her dog started asking for food.

She had been convinced she was insane when she first understood a language she didn't. "I did not understand her; I don't understand Spanish," she had told herself. A patient came in from Harlem with her mother, who didn't speak a word of English. She couldn't possibly have understood her. It was impossible, but the growing migraine she had her entire shift in the ER and her sudden ability to speak Spanish ruled out that theory.

Samantha had actually clocked out early because, after that patient, she felt a though she was going insane. She was certain she was just sick and hallucinating everything. After all, she did have a fever and she was feeling ill that entire day. Looking at the floor, she remembered how she nearly pulled her hair out and screamed her throat raw trying to get her dog, Cooper, to stop talking that day.

When she came home, she thought someone had been in her loft, only to find out it was Cooper talking. Needless to say, she freaked out; Cooper didn't seem to notice though. "Sam talk to Cooper all the time. Cooper talk to Sam," he'd said oh-so-casually. After that, he wouldn't stop talking to her. She then recalled how, after she ordered him to stop and went to sleep, she woke up and heard not a peep from him. She'd thought it had all been a dream until she said she was going to make waffles. Cooper loved waffles, and he had no problem exclaiming that as well. Those types of memories over the last few months made her smile for the first time in the last few hellish hours.

Samantha had been quite certain she was insane, talking pills that Adrian prescribed for her to help her with the anxiety and panic attacks, until she met a late patient's son, Mohinder Suresh.

Mohinder.

She wished he was here with her, even if to ignore her. Better yet, she wished she was at the hospital with him and Molly, watching over Matt. Her friends, she missed them more than ever. But this had been her idea, this had been her plan, for all of them to forget they ever knew her. Dr. Baxter told her that the FBI had been accusing her of being Sylar's accomplice. She'd known this; that was the reason why she came quietly. This, being locked up and examined like a lab rat, had been her choice.

_'__I hope she kills ugly stupid four__ eyes. If the fat doughnut men__ talk is true, I hope she kills him.__'_

Slowly, her gaze moved from the floor to him and grinned.

"How did I do it?" She chuckled mirthlessly. Time to seal the deal. "Like this."

Samantha lunged at the doctor, arms holding his throat like scissors. She continued to smile, straddling his waist to hold him to the ground. Dr. Baxter struggled against her, but his struggle for breath took precedent over his patient sitting on him. He gasped and choked as he felt his body shake, face turning red. Why couldn't he push her away? Why couldn't he pull her arms away from him? Shouldn't he, as a man, be stronger than some girl? How she was doing it, he didn't know, but she was doing it.

Before the security guards came in and dragged her off of him, before he was rushed to the medical bay and had a tube placed in his throat to breathe through, Dr. Baxter screamed underneath Samantha and all she did was shout in his face, 'Do you want to help me now?'

_**A/N:**_ This is post the season finale. This is also, only a one-shot. There _will_ be a sequel, which will take place during season two, with flashbacks to season one. That's a bit of the _LOST _fan in me, but I figured it worked better than writing an entirely separate fic for one when two is going on. I hope this gets you interested in the sequel, _The Primrose Path_.

P.S.: Six pages total.


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